


does the thunder roll, does the fire keep you cool?

by notinthisarmy



Category: Coolgames Inc. (Podcast) RPF, McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF, Polygon (YouTube) RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Facials, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, PWP, Threesome, but it's a playful good-natured sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 00:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11657817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notinthisarmy/pseuds/notinthisarmy
Summary: Pat was still stroking Nick’s hair, which was a little more distracting than was ideal for Nick to really show off his Wolfenstein skills, but - whatever, he felt warm all over and he’d played the game a dozen times. And, unanticipated but wholly welcome, it seemed to be having an effect on Griffin, too, who only had to glance over to notice the touch and the way Nick was tucking himself closer and closer into Pat’s side. Griffin put a hand on his knee, and then slid it a little higher, his palm hot through the thin jersey of Nick’s sweatpants, and he started to trail his nails up and down Nick’s inner thigh.





	does the thunder roll, does the fire keep you cool?

**Author's Note:**

> thank u as always to my gf santanico for her encouragement when my confidence faltered ❤
> 
> do note the part of the tags that says jealousy - it's all in good fun, and nobody's actually upset, but it is a big part of the fic, so if that's not your thing i suggest you skip this.
> 
> title is from Macy Gray's "Bang Bang".

“Nice,” Pat whispered, as the knife on screen _swish_ ed into a nameless guard. Nick grinned, leaning a little heavier into his side.

“Thank you,” he said, and ignored the little huffy breath that came from Griffin on his other side.

“There’s fuckin’ nothing like the knife-throwing mechanics in this game,” Pat said, watching Nick creep Blaskowicz a little closer to the next enemy. “Get him now now now - _fuck_ , yeah.”

Griffin, on his phone, looked up in time to watch the Nazi crumple to the ground. “Nick, my dude, all love, but you are being the worst host right now.”

Nick kicked him, gently but with both feet; Griffin caught the blow and laid Nick’s feet on his thighs, like that’d been his plan all along. “ _You_ were the one who said you had to catch up on Twitter,” Nick reminded him. “Like your legions of fans are gonna abandon you because you didn’t tweet for a day.”

“Hush,” Pat said, running a hand through Nick’s hair, and then doing it again when Nick leaned up into it and hummed a little. “We’re already interfering too much with his social media work.”

Griffin snorted, but he didn’t reply. Pat was still stroking Nick’s hair, which was a little more distracting than was ideal for Nick to really show off his Wolfenstein skills, but - whatever, he felt warm all over and he’d played the game a dozen times. And, unanticipated but wholly welcome, it seemed to be having an effect on Griffin, too, who only had to glance over to notice the touch and the way Nick was tucking himself closer and closer into Pat’s side. Griffin put a hand on his knee, and then slid it a little higher, his palm hot through the thin jersey of Nick’s sweatpants, and he started to trail his nails up and down Nick’s inner thigh. His hand wasn’t traveling far, but it was enough. Nick twisted his body a little to let his legs fall open a little more. It meant he had to crane his neck a little now to see the TV, but at this point that was far from his priority.

Griffin still had his phone in the other hand, scrolling, occasionally tapping out a laborious message with just his thumb, but his rhythm never faltered. Nick shifted his feet, pushed Griffin’s thighs apart just a little with his heels.

Pat’s hand in his hair slipped down, brushed across the nape of his neck and then the sensitive skin below his ear. Nick shivered. He could feel Pat’s nails, scoring the notches of his spine up the back of his neck and into the short soft hair at the base of his skull. He let out a breath, hard-edged and conspicuous.

On screen, Blascowicz caught a dozen bullets before Nick realized he should be in cover.

“Motherfucker,” Nick muttered, going for a health pack and finding himself empty. Pat’s fingers were running through his hair again, dragging a little harder on his scalp, sending these little shocks that made his thumb slip. Blaskowicz dove out of cover and promptly died. “Mother-!”

Nick cut himself off, or more appropriately Pat did with a tug on the longest part of his hair. It wasn’t hard at all, only a squeeze of his hand, quick and nonchalant.

“Ouch,” Pat said, and for a moment Nick was baffled, until he realized Pat was commenting on the Game Over screen.

Griffin’s hand moved a little higher up on his thigh. Out of the corner of his eye Nick could see him looking sideways at them, trying to be subtle and failing miserably. Pat, on the other hand - Nick would bet money he hadn’t so much as glanced in Griffin’s direction the whole time.

“Are you gonna try again?” Pat asked, shifting his feet on the coffee table to cross his ankles. Nick squirmed a little closer into his side and staunchly didn’t look at Griffin.

“Yeah,” he said, reloading the game.

He still didn’t have a health kit, and this time his knife soared past the guard and it took him a second try to get the kill. Pat was scratching his scalp lightly, pushing the hair up the wrong way every once in a while. That, too, was a little shiver-inducing, that funny feeling of hair that’s lain in one direction so long protesting a sudden change.

“Maybe you should stop distracting him,” Griffin said, when Nick fumbled the controls and lost a good chunk of health.

“I don’t think that’s the issue,” said Pat, and he drew the pads of his fingertips across Nick’s temple. Nick bit down on the tip of his tongue. Pat curled his fingers, did it again but with a little edge of nail this time.

Griffin blew out a breath, disbelieving, and all the while his hand was on Nick’s thigh, drawing those same lines through the fabric.

“He's just rusty,” Pat added, and Nick was torn, because that was _really_ pushing it, but on the other hand - a riled-up Griffin was such a fucking treat.

He settled for digging his elbow into Pat’s ribs until Pat hissed. “Fuck you,” he said, laughing, letting Pat palm the top of his head to pull him in closer.

Griffin put his phone down on the arm of the sofa. He kept watching the screen, or kept pretending to, but the hand on Nick’s leg was moving to the back of his knee - it almost tickled, but the pressure was just firm enough that it was nice instead. Griffin’s thumb rubbed at the side of his kneecap, and then he was pushing, until Nick let his knee be bent, his foot sliding off Griffin’s lap.

“You're getting flanked,” Pat remarked, and Nick swore and tried to refocus.

“Just use a grenade,” Griffin advised, and then slid his hand under the cuff of Nick’s pant leg and curled, warm, around his calf. Nick did his best not to jump.

“It won’t - they’re too far apart,” Nick protested. “If -” And then he bit into his lip, hard, because Griffin was drawing his nails down Nick’s calf, starting from the soft sensitive skin behind his knee. As if in some impossibly instant response, Pat’s hand dropped from his head to his neck, following the lines of the tendons there down into his tank top, stretched out and scoop-necked, to ghost across his left nipple. Nick jerked, nearly kicked Griffin with his free leg, and hit the melee button by accident, stumbling out of cover. “ _Fuck_ you guys, what the fuck is happening -”

“Griffin’s learning to share,” Pat supplied in a perfect deadpan, before pinching Nick’s nipple gently between thumb and forefinger. Nick let out a cut-off sound, right as Griffin made a noise of outrage.

“I’m perfectly capable of sharing,” Griffin protested, before pushing his hand farther into Nick’s pants to scratch down the back of his thigh. Nick looked over at him, worried for a split second, but Griffin was smiling, small and sort of wry. “Do you _want_ to be shared, Nicolas?”

“Jesus Christ,” Nick said, for lack of anything else. “Is that even a question? Are either of you gonna touch me, or just -” Pat twisted his body a little and reached down with his other hand to palm the obvious shape of Nick’s cock through his sweatpants, and Nick’s voice trailed off into a tight, wordless noise.

“Of course we are,” Pat said. “You're gonna tell us where you keep the lube, and Griffin’s gonna go get it because as much as I’d love to volunteer...” He shrugged, shifting Nick a little with the movement as if to prove why he was indisposed.

“He knows where it is,” Nick said, and Pat let out a soft huff of laughter, a wordless _of course._

Griffin got up, gently pushing Nick’s foot off his lap, turning off the TV as he passed it. Nick got a glimpse of the Game Over screen, which made sense, considering he’d dropped the controller sometime in the last couple minutes.

Nick sat up a little - Pat’s hand slipped out of his shirt to let him move - and twisted in his seat to look at Pat, who was sprawled against the arm of the sofa and looking as collected as ever. “What’re you doing?” Nick asked, glancing in the direction Griffin had gone.

Pat blinked. “He’s fun to rile up,” he said, matter-of-fact.

“ _I_ know,” Nick said, and laughed. He was used to riling Griffin up, practically made an art form out of it, but it wasn’t usually Pat’s style.

“So,” said Pat, a complete sentence, and his face was so impassive. It made Nick want to fall into him. He hovered in indecision for a moment, until Pat reached out, turning him with a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back in against Pat’s chest. Nick went easy enough - couldn’t find a reason not to, especially with Pat’s thumb brushing over his nipple through his shirt. The grain of the fabric was almost an irritant, but he arched up into it anyway, trying to get more pressure, relieve the strange sensation of that barely-there friction.

Pat pinched his nipple, then, hard enough that Nick yelped and his body jerked, and of course Griffin came back at that moment, the lube in one hand and a sullen look on his face. “You’re a cheating bastard,” he said, to Pat. And then, looking down at Nick, “Why’re you still wearing pants?”

“I - sofa,” was all Nick managed, and it was _his_ sofa but he couldn’t find it in him to argue when Griffin took hold of the waistband of his pants and pulled them off fast enough that they ended up inside out on his living room floor. “ _Jesus_.”

“Relax,” Pat said, and slipped his hand up under Nick’s shirt, pushing it up his stomach and trailing his nails from sternum to navel. Nick shuddered. “You think he’s all done?”

“He better not be,” said Griffin, even though Nick was right fucking there and _visibly_ hard. He wanted to speak up, whine until they got serious, but it was weirdly mesmerizing, the dynamic happening here, and Nick felt helpless between them. Griffin dropped the lube on the sofa and knelt on the cushions between Nick’s legs, nudging one off until his foot touched the floor. He put his hands on Nick’s inner thighs, spreading his fingers wide like he was trying to touch as much as he possibly could.

Pat’s free hand took hold of his cock. Nick swore - it was a light touch, and his hand was dry, but he was thumbing the head, and Nick twisted, trying in vain to get something better.

“You lazy fucker,” Griffin said, sliding his hands up Nick’s thighs to grip his hips, but speaking to Pat. “The lube’s right there.”

Pat squeezed a little, just enough to push a tiny sound out of Nick, and then he let go and picked up the lube, right as Griffin ducked down and pressed his open mouth to the base of Nick’s cock.

“ _Griffin_ ,” he hissed, because Griffin had moved so fast and he hadn’t seen it coming, and because Griffin was being such a tease in his own way - kissing wet and lazy, and then, god, moving farther down, dragging his tongue across Nick’s balls.

“I’ve got you,” Pat said, his hand back on Nick’s cock, now, slick with lube and warm and suddenly exerting _exactly_ the right pressure, so that Nick had to to grab a fistful of the couch cushion to keep from bucking up. Griffin was still mouthing soft at his balls, fingers digging into his thighs again, and he was afraid to move and ruin a single part of this.

“How’s that?” Pat said, twisting his wrist and thumbing the head again - a stupid fucking question, with Nick gasping and just concentrating on staying still - Pat had to feel how tense he was, surely. And then Pat’s hand faltered, hesitated. “Nick, if you don’t answer, I’m going to get worried.”

Griffin moved, scooted farther down until he was kissing Nick’s thighs, and Nick finally let himself move, squirming against Pat in a wordless plea. He didn’t want to talk - didn’t want to take the smallest risk of breaking this tension between them - but Pat was waiting, and Nick didn’t have a moment’s doubt that Pat could outlast him in a battle of wills. “Good,” he said, his voice strained, thin. “Fucking - good, please, Pat -”

Griffin bit down on his thigh, and Pat fisted his cock, and Nick _shouted_. He was embarrassed in the moment after, but the simultaneous sensations were almost too much, and neither of them was letting _up_ \- Griffin was pulling the skin into his mouth, sucking hard and merciless, while Pat sped up, pressing into the vein on the underside, squeezing right below the head. Nick writhed, pushed his head back into Pat’s shoulder until Pat’s stubble was scraping against his temple, and Pat - Pat was laughing, softly.

“You know why he did that, Nick?” Pat asked, his breath hot on Nick’s cheek. “You said my name, so now he’s gotta mark you up, just like a horny teenager.”

Griffin made a sound, but it was impossible to say what it meant - all Nick knew was he could feel the vibrations on his skin, and Griffin was still working that one spot, determined to leave something behind. It ached, but it was the perfect counterpoint to the sheer pleasure of Pat’s hand, tethering him to reality.

“See, you were his, first, and I think sometimes he almost forgets you’re not _just_ his. He likes to see other people wanting you, but he likes it when you’re just his, too. You can see it in his eyes, Nick, can’t you?”

And Griffin did look up, then, lifted his head only to switch to the other thigh and start bringing a bruise to the skin there too. But he kept his eyes on Nick’s, like he was following Pat’s unspoken command, and Nick _could_ \- he could see heat, definitely, and hunger -

“But he can’t always get what he wants,” Pat went on, and his hand was speeding up, squeezing just right but Nick couldn’t stop himself from fucking up into it anyway - his stomach was dropping out, his head felt too light, he needed - he needed -

Griffin was sucking hard at the skin of his thigh but his teeth were no longer in the mix, and some distant part of Nick’s brain knew that was the best way to leave a mark but he _missed_ the hard edge, too, and he tried to assemble the words in his brain to say it, but his thoughts kept scrambling up again. “Griffin,” he got out, and it was high-pitched and crackling but he pressed on anyway. “Griffin - nails -”

He’d been Griffin’s first, and Griffin understood - slid his hands around the backs of Nick’s legs and pushed them up underneath his ass, nearly lifting him off the sofa, and then he dug his nails in and dragged them down, slow and hard enough that his hands were shaking. Nick let out another shout, and he didn’t cut himself off this time, just fucking rode it out because if he didn’t shout then he might cry. Pat kept his hand blissfully constant, jacking him quick and firm with no hint of teasing in it, and Griffin’s nails hit the backs of his knees and suddenly Nick was coming on his own stomach.

“There you go,” Pat murmured, sweetly encouraging, _so_ close to patronizing, not that Nick could find it in him to give a fuck. His skin felt tight and hot, and he could feel his pulse _everywhere_ , and Pat was still stroking his dick, a little slower now but no gentler, until suddenly it was way too much and he had to give Pat’s arm a feeble shove. Pat dipped his thumb into the slit once more before he let go, and Nick shuddered against him and tried just to breathe.

Griffin was sitting up, his hands resting warm on Nick’s knees now. Nick was suddenly aware, in a way he had only felt very distantly before, of Pat’s cock, hard against his back. Griffin was hard, too, visible through his flannel pyjama pants, but he was watching Nick with a strange stillness to him, and Pat was much pushier, trailing his fingertips up and down Nick’s chest under his shirt (why was he still wearing his stupid tank top?), shifting restlessly against Nick’s back. Nick turned, tucked up his legs, and glanced over his shoulder at Griffin, who obligingly scooted back on the sofa until he hit the arm. Pat was grinning, faintly but with teeth, watching the whole thing. He was just wearing boxers, and with his legs spread so wide and Nick already between them, mouth suddenly watering…

“Just fuckin -” Pat reached down and pulled himself out, and Nick looked up to see his eyelids flutter at his own touch. “ _Nick_ …”

Nick didn’t bother teasing. Propped up on one elbow, he knocked Pat’s hand out of the way, held him steady at the base, and took the head into his mouth and started to suck.

The reaction was immediate - Pat’s hand scrabbled at his shoulder, his head dropped back and he let out a low, winded noise; and as if in some kind of strange sympathy, Griffin echoed it. He was jacking himself - Nick could hear the sound of skin on skin, and Griffin’s breathing speeding up. He bobbed his head, sank down a little and let out a moan - not for show, really, the fucking heat and thickness of Pat’s cock in his mouth was like nothing else, and he was still loose-limbed from orgasm, he wanted to take it all - but he couldn’t have anticipated the rush of satisfaction when Pat’s hips stuttered up in response and Griffin let out another sound. They were both focused on him, just him, and he wondered how he looked to Griffin, curled up between Pat’s legs with his spine curved and his head bobbing - he wanted to be self-conscious, but it was impossible with the sound of Griffin’s hand on his dick and the death grip Pat had on his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ,” Pat said, and his voice was cracking too, which only made Nick want to do even better. He drew back just a little to roll his tongue against the head, and Pat made a sound like he was dying. “Nick, I’m not gonna - you have to -”

Nick sank down again, kept going until Pat hit the back of his throat and his chest went tight with the instinct to pull off. He swallowed instead, and did it again when Pat kept making that sound, and then suddenly -

“Oh, fuck,” came Griffin’s voice, nasal and plaintive, a second before his come hit Nick’s back. It was enough of a surprise that it broke his concentration, and he pulled up to take a breath, right as Pat’s cock jerked and he came on Nick’s face.

Pat was gasping out an apology, an arm flung over his face, but his dick was still twitching in Nick’s hand. Nick gave it gentle pressure, working him through it, and wondered idly if either of the _two_ loads he’d just gotten on himself were going to drip onto the sofa.

“God, stay there,” Griffin said, his voice tight with what Nick assumed was embarrassment. He scrambled off the sofa, steadied himself with a hand on the coffee table, and he was off towards the kitchen, tearing off paper towel and getting it wet. Nick stayed, held still in both shock and also some strange instinct that said that they had him, they’d take care of it. He laid his cheek on Pat’s thigh, the cleaner side. Pat’s hand, the one that had been gripping his shoulder, was carding through his hair, shaky.

Griffin drew the damp paper towel across his back, flipped it to the dry side and did it once more. He hesitated, said, “Nick, your face -”

Nick hummed, let Griffin help him up, prop him up against the back of the sofa and wipe his face with the last clean corner of the towel.

“Sorry,” Pat said again, a little more strength in his voice now. He sounded sheepish, but he was leaning into Nick, still playing with his hair.

“Yeah, that was… a terrible experience,” Nick said, trying to inject enough sarcasm into his tone that it could overcome the way his voice was slurred, dazed. They laughed, Pat's forehead dropping onto his shoulder, so he must have done okay.

“Shit,” Griffin said, and Nick opened his eyes to look down at the mess that was his thighs and stomach, where his own come had dried. “Shower.”

“Yeah,” said Nick, but he let his head tip onto Griffin’s shoulder instead, his eyes falling shut again. Griffin tucked an arm around his waist, tilted his body a little to make his shoulder a better resting place. “In a minute.”

**Author's Note:**

> find santanico and me on tumblr at [kevinspaceyvoice](kevinspaceyvoice.tumblr.com).


End file.
